Antipathy and Acrimony
by Sar'Kalu
Summary: AU. Not For Children (MA15 ). Various Ships. Neville Longbottom is not your average wizard, he's something else, something far different and when he's old enough, powerful enough, he will ruin those who tried to make him mediocre and they will weep for their mistakes.
1. Prologue

**Title**: Antipathy and Acrimony  
**Author**: Sar'Kalu  
**Summary**: _Neville Longbottom is not an ordinary wizard, he is not your average, run-of-the-mill Longbottom either; he is so much more. As he goes through his years at Hogwarts, Neville finds that he's not so alone as he had thought and that there is another just like him prowling the stone halls._  
**Rating**: MA15+; explicit content, including language, sexual content and extreme violence and abuse of a physical, sexual, mental and emotional nature.  
**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J.K Rowling, Bloomsbury Books and Warner Bros. Movies and their affiliates. Themes from this fiction are drawn heavily from Christine Feehan's 'Leopard Series' and no copy-right infringement was intended.

* * *

**Prologue**

**Earliest Memory:**

His environment was warm and cozy. He wasn't alone. He could hear the other inside him, whispering, soft little growls and encouragement. The need for freedom, the promise of a life that had been lived two cycles already and had been incredible. And then the squeezing came, hard shoves, the walls of his cocoon closing around him, twisting in waves to push him out, expel him from the warmth of his home into cold air and bright lights. At once scents assailed him. He couldn't sort out all the different smells, but the other could. Blood. People. Hospital. The other remembered the smells even when he didn't.

He felt hands on him, shaking him, poking, a sharp prick, he pried open his eyes and looked around this new environment.

"My God, Augusta, he looks like a skinned rat. He's so ugly. He's skinny and useless to us." The voice was resentful, filled with loathing.

He understood the words, or maybe the other did, but he knew the man was talking about him. He looked like a rat. And rat wasn't good, not if that voice meant anything.

"Ssh, Franklin," another voice cautioned. "Someone will hear."

"We can't take it home with us."

"We can't leave it here," a third deeper voice replied.

"On the way home, I'm finding a dumpster," a higher pitched voice hissed. "I'm not getting stuck with that ugly thing."

"Don't be ridiculous, Augusta," the third voice said, "We can't take a chance we'll be caught. We'll take him home and let Frank's useless wife to look after him. You'll never have to see him."

There was a huff followed by a clatter of heels. The woman -Augusta- had left the room, her strident tones echoing after her as she walked away. There was movement and then silence.

"This is your fault, Uncle Algie! Mummy warned me not to marry her. Mummy said Alice's genes weren't strong enough to produce one of the special ones. I didn't want to get her pregnant and have that thing attached to my name, but you insisted I had to do this. Now you deal with it."

"Fine. I'm naming him Neville after your father." There was malice in Algie's voice. "Your mother never did think I was clever enough to know what's what, and she won't like having your whelp named after your father; she hated the man."

"Name it any damn thing you want, just keep it away from me." Franklin snarled stalking from the room angrily.

The hatred and loathing in the cold voice, gave the infant—newly named Neville Longbottom—the chills, but he refused to cry.

**Eighteen Months:**

There were loud noises, paraphernalia falling to the ground, clattering against the rich wood of the mansions floors followed by screaming and insults. The other growled angrily, his territory had been invaded, his mother was threatened. The only one to care for him, him the little boy not the ugly rat that Augusta called him. Movement caught his attention and Alice flung herself down over him, crying heavily, tears splashing his face.

"Not my son! Please leave my son alone!" Alice sobbed.

Alice was weak, she bowed beneath the cruel pressure of Franklin and Augusta, unwillingly accepting their abuse all because she loved them. She loved Neville too, just not enough to take home away from his father and grandmother. The other didn't understand it, but accepted it as the simple truth.

A wild cackling filled the room and a malice filled voice crawled over him like oil over water. "Aw, little Alice is all so scared!" The other woman crooned.

"Leave us alone, Lestrange!" Alice shouted.

"_Crucio_!"

Alice screamed, collapsing on top of him and thrashing wildly about, her son wailing in fright and pain as his mother slowly crushed him.

"Now, bloodtraitor, where is my Master?"

He had no idea what a blood traitor was, but it didn't sound good at all. He shuddered with his mother, feeling the tremors that wracked her body and trembled, knowing that if the woman –Lestrange– didn't get what she wanted, he would be next.

Alice had clearly answered incorrectly because she was soon screaming again beneath Lestrange's cruel torture and the other let out angry snarls, helpless in his inability to protect the only person who loved him. The torture continued for hours before finally, his mother was a gibbering mess and Lestrange was tiredly standing before him, frustrated in her inability to find her beloved master.

"_CRUCIO_!"

Neville screamed, it was like fire was being poured over his bones, his nerve endings electrified into unspeakable agony and his infant throat tore asunder from the force of his screams. Not even the other could remain silent beneath the full weight of Bellatrix Lestrange's cruel torture.

**Two Years:**

The sharp pointed shoe caught Neville in the stomach and doubled him over. He should have been faster. He had the reflexes. The other warned him, but he had wanted to be held, had gone looking for her. She was his grandmother after all. The grand mothers in the books he owned and out in the play yard held their grandsons, but she kicked him hard, her voice screaming for Dotty.

"Get this horrid brat out of my sight. Ugly little rat." Augusta yanked him up by one arm, held him dangling in the air and beat him with her stiletto heel, smashing the shoe into him over and over, his face, his belly, his groin, his thighs, anywhere she could land a blow with his squirming body. Rage and hatred fused together on her cold face.

Deep inside him, he felt something wild unfurl, and his fingers curled under, as did his toes. The other hissed to him, cautioned him. Take it. Let her hit you. Hide what you are. She wants what you are. Hide. Hide. He breathed away the fire building in his belly and the itch running under his skin.

Grandma's weren't like this in the books or on the radio. There was no cuddling. There were no hugs and kisses. Slaps and kicks was all he would get from his grandmother. He listened to her on the radio sometimes; the parties and fundraisers. She looked so different, smiling for the cameras, the reporters describing how she clung to Algie, stroking his arm as if she loved her brother so much; but behind closed doors, there was cruelty and hatred and deceit from both of them.

Over time, they taught him to separate reality from fantasy.

**Five years:**

"We absolutely can't keep a nanny or whatever you call that creature, who beats the crap out of our grandkid. She put out cigarettes on him," Algie complained. "There are burn marks on his hands. Sooner or later one of the tutors will see and report it."

Neville stayed quiet, very still. He'd perfected the art of sliding silently into a room without their knowledge and listening to the conversation. Most of what they said was still over his head, discussions about business and taking over companies- but he understood the basic truth that lay at the foundation of every meeting. Money was important. Power was important. They had it and he needed it. Dotty the House Elf wasn't putting cigarettes out on him. Cousin Dorothy, Algie's daughter, was. Her lovers did sometimes too, just to please her. She could make them do anything she wanted no matter how cruel or humiliating. He knew them by sight, by scent and someday he would ruin them. Money. Power. That was what they had and what he needed.

"Nobody cares, Algie," Augusta said, annoyed with the conversation already, a cigarette in her hand. Dorothy wasn't the only one to put cigarette out on his hands...

"Someone is going to see those burns and a reporter will get hold of it. We'll be front page news." Algie swung around to face Augusta and pointing a finger at her, his voice hardening.

"I let you do what you want within reason, Augusta, but you aren't going to ruin us with your senseless little games involving my daughter and her lovers."

Augusta stabbed her cigarette into the tray. "Really?" Both eyebrows shot up. A crafty expression crossed her face and Neville's stomach tightened. "We might get some great publicity, Algie, if we can work it right. Skeeter does love family drama; our little boy, Franklin's son, beaten and abused by a trusted member of our household, your daughter. Our tears in front of the camera, me leaning on you, the rock of our household, we photograph so well together. A close-up of the boy in the hospital looking frail, fear filled eyes. We could run with that a long time; I could host a charity event for battered children, even Death-Eater-Malfoy would jump in behind me at the idea. It would open more possibilities, and get us some great press."

"Dorothy will be prosecuted and put in jail. She knows quite a bit about us."

"Don't be stupid. If we do this, Dorothy has to disappear."

"Augusta, you can't be serious, she's my daughter."

"You make it sound as though you care about the girl." Augusta rolled her eyes. "You're such a snivelling coward, Algie. Do you think I'm going to let her talk to the Auror's? Or the press? Hardly!"

Algie turned his head slowly, something feral and predatory in his eyes. Augusta stiffened and lowered her eyes submissively. "We have a very good arrangement, my dear sister, but perhaps you need another lesson in respecting your brother and Lord of the Longbottom family. Be thankful that Enid is out for the rest of the month, or you would have a hard time explaining yourself to her."

Neville felt his heart hammering loudly. He had never considered his uncle dangerous, but that look, that small movement, just a flexing of muscles showed that beneath the seeming apathy, Alige was every bit as cruel or even more so than Augusta. He'd given himself away.

Augusta pushed a hand through her iron-grey hair. "No, no of course not, darling. I'm sorry."

She was genuinely afraid. Neville, hidden as he was, could scent her fear permeating the room.

The tension drained from Algie and he forced a smile, but his eyes were flat and cold. "How are you going to keep the kid from talking?"

Augusta visibly relaxed, and, even in the shadows, Neville felt the impact of evil. "He won't talk. I can guarantee that. I have to plan this very carefully. We need a few warning signs, some things we can have on record we discussed with the Healers, expressed our concerns, but no one can substantiate." She rubbed her hands together. "This is good, Algie. Maybe that skinny little rat will be worth something to us after all."

Instinctively Neville knew he was in for trouble. He had already made up his mind to survive, to beat them at their own game. He could be stronger. He'd seen how to do it. He had to be smarter and faster and more ruthless than any of them. He couldn't stop them yet, but he could endure and that too, would strengthen him.

He opened his hand and looked at the burns there. He had let Augusta and Dorothy put out their cigarettes on him. He had been fast enough to get away, but he hadn't been stupid about it and he needed to remember this one moment, to mark the occasion so he would know he could be smarter, use his brains to defeat them. Down in his room, when he was certain he was alone, he took out a knife and slowly drew it over his thigh, making the first of many marks to prove to himself, to remind himself that he had deliberately taken their punishment, that he allowed it.

**Six years:**

Neville watched helplessly as Augusta and Algie killed Dorothy. He watched how they took tremendous pleasure in it and they hurt her for a long time before they killed her. He was tied up and forced to watch as they systematically beat to death the woman who had helped raise him alongside Dotty. Dorothy had been cruel at times and apathetic at others, but at least she'd taken marginal care of him. He knew what was coming next, because Augusta had told him what would happen to him. She'd smiled as she told him.

Neville spent the next two weeks in the hospital when they were through beating him and he never once denied the allegations brought against his cousin. She'd disappeared after viciously beating their grandson, Augusta and Algie claimed.

The Auror's tried to question him, but he was broken, his bones and, even for a time, his spirit. He could only lie in bed helpless, pain shaking him, cruelty destroying him, remaining absolutely silent, knowing they would kill him if he said anything. He wasn't strong enough yet. He had to push harder. He had to dig deeper. He had so much to learn and he had lots of time, lying in bed while his ribs and arms healed, to formulate a plan.

The reporters came and went. The Healer's and Medi-Wizards felt sorry for Augusta as she quietly and beautifully wept for the photographers and her audience, clinging to her handsome, adoring brother. She played out her role, lavishing attention on the unresponsive boy, her money and her celebrity affording her prime time coverage of the Daily Prophet. She sought out every possible advantage, leading charities and organisations as long as she could headline and get interviewing time with Skeeter. Everyone believed her, not because of the evidence of Neville's body, but because of the money and her acting skills. Neville had to admit she was mesmerising. She could get almost anyone to do what she wanted. He needed those skills now that he knew what he was dealing with.

**Seven years:**

Algie had been drinking heavily all afternoon, his eyes were blood shot and weary as he glared angrily at the little boy, his great-nephew who sat in the nursery unconcernedly. The rat-like baby had become a rat-like squib, no magic whatsoever, it was disgusting that the once proud Longbottom name had resorted to this. A boy-child with no discernible talent nor gifts who sat around all day reading Herbology books.

"Boy!" He grunted.

Neville shot upright, wariness lighting his clear blue eyes. "Uncle Algie."

Algie staggered forwards, catching himself against the side of the desk. "You're no wizard, boy. You're a squib!"

Neville barely managed to hide his flinch, being a squib was one of his worst fears, it would greatly hamper his designs of revenge against his family.

Algie was angry, it was clear to see, his pudgy face a puce like colour that blotched and curdled his already unenviable complexion. Muddy brown eyes were fixed angrily on the boy in front of him and with a swift lunge, snatched up the boys arm and towed him towards the window.

"Teach the boy to be a wizard!" Algie muttered to himself, his eyes glinting with madness. "Teach him to not be a squib!"

Neville was breathing harshly as his seven year old body convulsed in his uncles tight grip unable to escape the vice-like fingers around his arm and leg. The window flew open in a burst of accidental magic and with a giant heave, Neville found himself flying and bouncing down the gravel driveway, coming to a gentle stop by the duck pond.

Algie scowled. "Huh, what do you know, the boy was a wizard after all."

**Eight years:**

Augusta was nervous and upset. Calliadora Longbottom, her husband's mother was coming for another visit. She always insisted on talking alone with Neville, and Augusta didn't like it. She despised her mother-in-law and even talked about trying to have her killed, but she was afraid of her; Calliadora was a Black, and the Black's were not a family you messed with lightly. Neville didn't understand why she was afraid. Calliadora lived several countries away in Ireland, but Augusta always dressed Neville just so and acted completely different, as if she cared about him in front of his great-grandmother.

She hissed instructions to young Neville, reminding him to mind his manners, to keep his mouth shut, not to answer any questions about Augusta or Algie or their personal lives. She threatened him with dark punishments if he dared disobey her. Neville found the entire matter of his great-grandmother quite interesting. What did the old woman have that frightened Augusta? What did Augusta want from her that made her try to look so respectable and sweet?

Calliadora never bought her lies. She smiled and made nice with Augusta and Algie, but Neville could smell the pretence flowing from one to the other and he could see the contempt in the old woman's piercing gaze. Calliadora always insisted she talk alone with young Neville and Neville enjoyed the long conversations, but the aftermath was always hell. Augusta and Algie used a whip on him to beat him into submission and attempt to force every word of the conversation between the old woman and their grandson out of him. Neville became very adept at making up stories and telling them straight-faced, looking the two of them right in the eye. And then he would go to his room and mark his victory permanently into his skin, the pain clearing the rage and anger from his belly, replacing it with cold resolve.

**Ten years:**

Books. The huge library in his home others rarely entered was a treasure beyond measure. Neville spent most of his time in the library reading in the quiet haven of the room his parents never entered. He read every book on the shelves, regardless of subject, his eidetic memory soaking up the knowledge and details and filing them away for future reference.

He learned to stay silent and in the background. He'd slip away from Pippy, the latest nanny elf, and pad silently through the house, finding each occupant's location, sneak up on them until he was close enough to touch them, but never let them know he was near.

He discovered insider information on stocks. Algie was extremely intelligent and adept at knowing other people's weaknesses. Neville learned a lot by watching him, the small smile that others took at face value, but Neville came to know signalled Algie was about to strike and strike hard. Descended from a powerful family with tremendous law and accounting connections, Algie's expertise in handling the diversity of companies they owned and his political connections were both extremely valuable.

Neville's conversations with great-grandmother Calliadora about stocks and bonds and the financial books he'd read in the library helped him to understand and assimilate the information he gathered when spying on his uncle.

Today, as Neville crept though the house, he found Augusta with her personal duelling trainer in the exercise room. They rarely used the equipment so much as they used one another. He learned a lot in that room and then further explored the subject with the books he found in the library and the information on the computer. Sex was simply another weapon to be used, like money to gain power. He resolved to learn everything he could about sex so he could be really good at it. There was no point in having a weapon at his disposal, unless he could wield it effectively.

Neiville began to work out, to use the powerful muscles running beneath the skin in his thin arms and legs. He used every machine, studying the exercise manuals and DVDs carefully and following the instructions, careful never to get caught. Each day, every day, Neville prowled his family's home, observing, listening reading…learning more and more. Everything he filed away, all for one purpose.

One day, when the time was right, he was going to beat his family at their own game. He would take over every single one of their companies, ruin them financially, expose them to the world for what they were. He would make absolutely certain they knew that the child they had beaten so often, thinking him a victim, was really the strong one, really the predator.

And then, on his eleventh birthday, he got his Hogwarts letter to everyone's surprise.

* * *

**A/N:**

_This is a trial run of a new fic I'm writing, read and review and let me know what you think; if it's worth continuing I'll attempt to do so, but until then consider this the first and last chapter._

_— Sar'Kalu_


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

It was warm on the train and the seats were remarkably comfortable, the young boy, only eleven years old, smiled to himself as he curled up tightly into a ball on the seat, his loathsome toad sat beside him making the occasional croaking sound. He was dressed in his Hogwarts robes already, the thick black cloth swimming on his small frame. Bleary hazel eyes blinked rapidly as the compartment door slid open and another boy slipped in. Thick, messy black hair and impossibly gold eyes characterised his thin, aristocratic face. The boy swayed to the motions of the train, he looked tired and in pain, and he knew that he wouldn't be getting any sleep now. He sighed.

"Mind if I sit here?" The boy asked quietly, an odd rasping tone to his voice, as though his throat was bruised and sore.

He shrugged, what did he care if the other boy joined him, it was a free country after all.

Gold Eyes smiled painfully, his ruby red lips tilting at an odd angle, and he stared at them in mild confusion. Lips weren't meant to be that red, it was surely impossible. Wasn't it? Gold Eyes shoved his trunk under the seat and sat down, his shoulders quivering from the strain. Gold Eyes was small, smaller than he was and he was in the lower spectrum of the normality of height. There was also something odd about the boy, a smell that reminded the other of something more, of rain-forests and hunting in the tall canopy the colourful birds calling out in warning, marking their presence.

"What's your name?" He asked Gold Eyes.

"Harold Potter." The boy answered indifferently. "Yes I have the scar, no you may not see it and no I'm not going to tell you about my memories of that night."

He snorted. "Neville Longbottom, and I don't want to hear about it."

Harold smiled again, a thin trickle of red sliding from the corner of his mouth. "Good."

Neville sank further into his seat and closed his eyes, it was warm and safe enough here, he didn't have to be on guard any more. Harold mimicked his position, pulling the armrest down and curling up like a cat on the seat, Neville blinked sleepily, smiled and then closed his eyes once again. Harold laughed softly, the faint scent of iron permeating the compartment and had Neville's eyes been open, he would have seen Harold's teeth covered in coppery blood, the congealed mess creating thick red lines between each yellowed tooth. It was a horrible sight.

Just as the two boys had finally sunk into a restive state, the door was flung open again and a blonde boy stepped in, his pointed face haughty and arrogant as he stared down at the two previously sleeping boys. His overly confident bearing and manner was belied by the obvious hopeful scent that followed him around, as if he was not nearly as sure as he appeared. Neville wasn't surprised, the kid was a preteen and if he wasn't mistaken, well used to riding Daddy's coat tails.

"I heard Harry Potter was in this compartment." He announced, snapping both boys from their sleep. Gold and hazel eyes, wary with anticipation, stared at him coldly.

"Your heard incorrectly." Harold muttered. "I've heard about this Harry Potter of yours, he doesn't exist. Harold Potter on the other hand does and he does not appreciate the shortening of his name."

The blonde blinked in confusion. "So you're Harry Potter? You? The kid in rags at Madam Malkin's?" He stunk of incredulity.

"And you are?" Harold asked, drawing out each word filling them with condescension and contempt. Neville was impressed this was a boy who would be well worth keeping close to hand.

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." The blonde answered imperiously, staring down at Harold arrogantly. "And I think you'll find some wizarding families are better than others, I can help you there." He said, shooting a dark look at Neville.

"Well you've hardly impressed me with your conduct, still, I suppose I can give you a chance." Harold drawled, taking Malfoy's hand, squeezing it cruelly. "But Longbottom here was my acquaintance first, and I must insist you apologise to him."

Malfoy stiffened at the order, dropping Harold's hand. "Sorry Longbottom." He muttered, backing out of the compartment, the scent of fear flooding the compartment and Neville noticed the way Harold's nostrils flared, as though capturing a delicious scent, gold eyes glowing. The boys behind him, unnoticed until now, prevented his swift removal.

Neville watched him leave curiously. "Malfoy, a Dark wizard." He murmured. "Odd how he doesn't look quite as evil as my Uncle made him seem."

Harold snorted. "I think you'll find that preconceived notions are hardly as obvious and blatant as others make them seem."

Neville grinned, he liked this kid.

"Now, if its all the same to you, I'm going back to sleep." Harold muttered.

Neville hummed. "Not if I fall asleep first." He mumbled.

Harold laughed quietly and silence fell once more.

The train jolted and Neville nearly fell from his seat. It was dark and gloomy, the station outside was lit with oil lamps and they shone like fireflies in the darkness. It was poor illumination at best. Harold was standing upright, his height barely reaching the back of the chairs and his gold eyes glowed with excitement. Neville stood, stretching himself carefully, mindful of the bruises and cuts on his abdomen. The two boys slipped from the train, their booted feet landing lightly on the cemented ground and they slipped through the crowded students towards the ridiculously tall man who was bellowing for the first years.

"How uncouth." Neville murmured, not expecting to be heard.

Harold snorted. "You have no idea."

They followed their peers down a rocky path that had them all slipping and sliding along the precarious track. Harold halted, little more than half way down and cursed lightly.

"This is ridiculous, I have little interest in breaking my neck." Harold muttered.

Neville hummed in agreement. "The carriages then?" He asked.

"Agreed." Harold murmured.

The pair slipped away, their eyes picking out the treacherous rocks and stones that would send them tumbling down the incline. They arrived back at the platform in time to slip onto the last carriage, both boys pausing at the sight of the great black horse-like creature that pulled the carriage.

"Sorry, but what pulls the carriages?" Neville asked, his voice wary as he addressed a tall boy with red hair and a prefect badge.

The boy startled at the address and blinked rapidly. "Oh, those are thestrals." He answered. "You can only see them if you've seen death." He blinked. "Can you see them?"

Harold rolled his eyes. "Of course not, we were just curious, is all."

The Prefect nodded and returned to his book once again while Neville raised a brow in silent query at Harold.

"Some now I don't think we should be able to see them." Harold answered quietly.

Neville nodded in agreement.

Hogwarts was magnificent, the towers, the spires, the battlements; they all added up to an incredible view. Harold could care less, he eyed the castle with something akin to bemused exasperation while Neville rolled his eyes in silent agreement. The carriage pulled up at the front of the castle and Neville and Harold lagged behind the other students, it was obvious the first years hadn't arrived yet, and as they were supposed to be a part of that group, well, it made sense to join the back of the column when it appeared.

Sure enough, nearly twenty minutes later, the first years appeared at the top of the steps that led to the dungeons. After a tall thin witch dressed in emerald green had addressed the group, she led them right past Harold and Neville who jumped in at the end. They hadn't been seen.

If Hogwarts Castle had been a magnificent sight, the Great Hall was incredible; illuminated by thousands of floating candles with a ceiling that appeared to open up to the very heavens, the Great Hall gave off a sense of warmth, family and joy. For both Harold and Neville, who were wary of family, dubious of joy and welcoming of warmth, it was a mixed reaction. The tall witch in green halted at the top of a dais and pulled out a scroll of thick parchment and gestured to a stool with an old ratty hat seated on top. Harold sneered.

"Now, when I call out your name, I want you to step forward and put on the Sorting Hat which will then sort you."

Neville snorted. "Really and here I thought the Sorting Hat would kill you stone dead."

"It's all in the name, Neville, it's all in the name." Harold said sagely, shaking his head wearily.

The students nearby who had overheard the brief conversation, snorted in amusement and eyed the duo curiously. The witch had already called out three names and was still going strong; Neville watched the students being sorted with a vague sort of curiosity. Some of his peers took a long time to sort, others however took barely any time at all, it was interesting to say the least.

"Davies, Tracy."

"Slytherin, I bet you." Harold muttered.

Neville scoffed. "I don't take sure bets."

The Hat confirmed Harold's bet with his next shout. "Slytherin!"

"Told you." Harold murmured.

"As I told you I don't take sure bets." Neville grumbled.

Harold laughed softly and rolled his eyes. "Know what house you're getting into?"

"Whichever one pisses my Uncle off the most." Neville muttered.

Harold laughed loudly at that and bumped shoulders with Neville, careful of both their injuries. "Slytherin?"

"How did you guess." Neville agreed as Li, Su was called out.

"Ravenclaw." Harold and Neville said in unison.

"Longbottom, Neville."

Neville shuffled his way forwards, slipping through his peers and sliding onto the stool. The witch in green placed the Sorting Hat on his head and Neville wondered if, after all these year, the Hat had lice or fleas. The Hat twitched angrily, but ignored the idle thought.

"Ah yes," It murmured. "Not a bad mind and talent, oh yes, and a thirst to prove yourself, but where to put you? Little ambition except to escape your home life, little to no loyalty and self serving and none of the courage that your father had. Where to out you?"

"Not Gryffindor!" Neville begged.

"Not Gryffindor, eh? You could be brave you know, and Gryffindor could help you on the way to greatness, there's no doubt about that, but still... You'd tear them apart... No, well if you're sure... Better be SLYTHERIN!"

There was a shocked silence, Longbottom's were light and brave, what was a Longbottom doing in Slytherin? Neville ignored the whispers and the silence and seated himself at the end of the green and silver table, watching a gold plate and fork pop out of nowhere in front of him. He watched Malfoy join him at Slytherin and rolled his eyes as the Patil twins were separated and McMillain ended up in Hufflepuff. It was all very boring until Harold was called forwards.

"Potter, Harry!"

The name sparked interest and practically every student leant forwards, searching for their illusive hero. Harold didn't move, his gold eyes gleaming with amusement and he caught Neville's eyes and winked subtly. Malfoy sat opposite Neville and was twitching with anticipation, obviously expecting Harold to do something unexpected. Clearly, Malfoy wasn't entirely stupid.

"Harry Potter?" The witch called again, concerned.

"Oh, you mean me?" Harold asked in faux surprise. "Sorry, but I thought you were calling for someone else. My name is Harold, for future reference."

The witch stared in shock as Harold sat regally on the stool and pointedly stared at her.

"Well, are you going to sort me or what?" He asked arrogantly.

The witch flushed and quickly put the Hat on his head. It barely sat there at all before it screamed out "SLYTHERIN!"

Harold rolled his eyes, removed the Hat and swaggered arrogantly towards Neville. Neville snorted at his antics while Malfoy stared at him in shock. The three of them ignored the white faces of the teachers and the shocked silence of the students.

"You would not believe the arrogance of that ratty old hat." Harry muttered inaudibly to Neville.

Neville rolled his eyes in silent agreement. "I think you shocked people."

"Lord knows why." Harold growled, sweeping his gaze over the student body.

"You can't be a Slytherin!" A second year Gryffindor shouted.

There was a horrible pause and then the Great Hall exploded, the cacophony of noise thundered down onto the unimpressed preteens, their gold and hazel eyes silently watching the shouting, cajoling and raucously rude Gryffindor's scream threats and epithets at them. Not a single teacher made move to halt the poor showing and Neville was absolutely disgusted at the sight. Finally a tall man dressed in black stood, his pitch black eyes and large hooked nose added to the severity and austerity of his angry gaze as his raised wand emitted a gunshot like crack that broke through the Gryffindor's yells and shouts.

"That is enough!" He snapped. "Headmaster, have you anything to say to your beloved Lion's insouciant and crass behaviour?"

The Headmaster blinked rapidly, having been jolted from his calm contemplation of Harold and Neville apparently just as disbelieving as his Deputy in the two boys sortings. "The Sorting Hat's decision is final," he stated, blue eyes weary. "There will be no cruel jibes nor hexes resulting from Harry's sorting."

The Gryffindor's subsided unhappily, glares targeting the indifferent Potter heir. Starting from her shocked reverie, the witch standing beside the Sorting Hat shakily called out the next student, her eyes occasionally returning to Harold and Neville's persons with a somewhat disbelieving air of denial. In fact, the scent of denial was being exuded by their fellow Slytherin peers, their shocked eyes watching them cautiously.

"Your Grandmother, how will she likely act upon the knowledge that you are a Slytherin?" Harold enquired of Neville, fiddling with his golden fork and blatantly ignoring the curious and triumphant eyes of Malfoy.

Neville snorted lightly, re-drawing the gaze of the seventh and fifth year prefects. "Not well, I dare say that Great Uncle Algie will react in much the same manner as he did whenever I failed to show magical ability."

The Slytherin Prefect's frowned at the idle commentary, both annoyed that the duo were obviously ignoring the ceremony and also equally concerned over the subtle hint that Neville Longbottom was abused. A hint that would quite possibly substantiate the claims and records of that publicity stunt five years ago that resulted with Longbottom ending up in St. Mungo's. Fiona Tyler in particular wondered why a wizarding family would force a child's magic from them, it was either there or not; no amount of force could summon it and indeed would be more likely to harm the child. Harold hummed in quiet thought at his new acquaintances comment, his face turning reflective at the thought of what his Aunt and Uncle might say if he told them anything at all regarding his magical education, as it was he had stolen his cousins allowance to catch a bus into London, they would hardly welcome him with open arms if they ever found that out. Not that they would have, regardless; still, it was the principal of the matter.

"Zabini, Blaise."

"Slytherin." Neville and Harold said in bland unison.

"How dull." Harold commented, picking up his gold fork and inspecting the utensil calmly; the reflective surface mirroring his remarkable eyes back at him.

Neville snorted softly as the Headmaster stood to address the Hall. "Indeed."

Neither boy paid any attention to the Headmaster's address and quietly surveyed the Great Hall for threats. Apparently Dumbledore had finished as the heavy golden platters were soon filled to the brim with foodstuffs and jugs of drink. Harold quietly observed his classmates while helping himself to a small portion of beans, mash and sausages while Neville piled his plate full with a massive slice of steak and kidney pie, grinning ear to ear at the idea of indulging his more... carnivorous attributes.

"We're all purebloods here, Pansy." Malfoy was expounding cheerfully. "None of that Mudblood riffraff gets into Slytherin you know."

"Mudblood riffraff?" Harold asked coldly, his golden eyes slicing into Malfoy's confident exterior, his nostrils flaring as the scent of wary anxiety coiled around the blonde boy.

"No offence of course, Potter." Malfoy quickly backtracked.

Harold's eyes were icy. "I don't care who your father is, Malfoy, but I remember the night the Dark Lord fell all too clearly. My mother, a mudblood, stood in front of me and denied the worst Dark Lord of the century my life in return of her own. Do not mention mudbloods around me again or you will not survive the night."

Silence fell around the first years as they stared at the most famous eleven year old in history in shock, their eyes wide. Glances were exchanged and the deeply wary air around them morphed into fear as they realised that Harold truly meant the threat he had just delivered in a completely blasé manner at the dinner table. Neville flared his nostrils capturing that delightful scent and dragged it deeply into his lungs, the other raking at his skin as he tried to escape free and show them something to be truly frightened of, his bone-rattling roars pounding to the tempo of Neville's heart-beat. Harold's eyes were dilated, his own nostrils widened as he took in deep breaths of the fear fogged air and a twisted smiled graced his lips and Neville felt realisation hit him with the intensity of a thunder-bolt.

Harold and he were exactly the same.

Dinner finished without further problems nor meaningful discussion and Neville ignored the burning sensation of someone staring at him with a deep abiding anger, whether it was directed at himself or Harold who was seated beside him, Neville didn't know. Nor did he care. Much.

The other was growling deep within his mind, prowling the depths of his mind as he stared out over the bustling Great Hall. The Headmaster was speaking again, addressing the student body as though he were a King presiding over his court. Perhaps he was, as Neville eyed the teaching staff he noted which paid close attention and those who were maintaining an expression of polite interest, minds clearly focused on their down-filled beds.

"Can he get any more tiresome?" Neville asked rhetorically.

Harold slanted an amused look in his direction but didn't answer.

"Pip pip, off to bed!" Headmaster Dumbledore fare welled, cheerfully smiling around his beloved student body. His eyes skated across the Slytherin first years, troubled weariness tainting their blue depths before he marshalled himself once more and returned to beaming around the quickly emptying Hall. This year would be most interesting.

Neville and Harold trailed towards the back of the first year pack, their eyes quickly adjusting to the strange dimness of the lower castle levels. Neither liked the term: dungeons. They weren't criminals. The Slytherin dorm's were several levels beneath the lake and the very end of the Common Rooms opened out into a muggle space-station like bubble that held the murky lake waters at bay showing a more than pleasant view of the more interesting denizens of the Black Lake. Harold decided he quite enjoyed the scene, his golden eyes gleaming as he quickly spotted. Monstrous squid and several demon-like beings haunting the long kelp strands, their pointed teeth grinning at him in silent threat.

A tall man wearing black stood beside the ornate central fireplace, greasy black strands of hair hiding most of his face in shadow except for a most remarkable nose that had clearly been broken at least three times before. The first years were directed into the Dark Man's presence while the older years filtered away into their already prescribed dorm rooms. Only the fifth and seventh years were given separate rooms, purely for study purposes.

The Dark Man sneered in disgust as he caught Neville and Harold loitering toward the back of the group, neither apparently paying much attention to his address. "If it's not too much to ask, perhaps Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Potter can explain the most pressing rule for all Slytherin students?"

"Stick together, sir." Harold replied blandly, narrowing his eyes as the mans complexion whitened and then flushed darkly. This man hated him.

Of course, he hadn't been paying attention, maybe that was it?

"Mr. Potter!" The man spat. "You will pay better attention nest time, I will not have you ruining Slytherin's reputation for no good reason!"

Or maybe not. Harold rolled his eyes in blatant disrespect, he could smell a bizarre mix of fear, anger and bitter sadness tainting the man's very form. It was as if he walked around in a cloud of despairing rage, impotent in his inability to find anything around him. The Dark Man was an angry, bitter man who stank of darkness and rage, clearly forced into his line of work by the Headmaster; which just left the reason as to why.

"Of course sir." Neville sighed. "Is there anything else we need to know, or may we depart your presence?"

The Dark Man's nostrils flared in fury before he controlled his reaction and Neville wondered just what the man would do if he was pushed too far. Explode, undoubtably.

"You may not." He hissed like an offended cat. "I will be assigning you your dormitories. Malfoy and Potter. Zabini and Crabbe. Nott and Goyle. Longbottom and Finch."

The Dark Man smirked smugly at the indignant first year students and swept from the room in a fit of fine pique, clearly revelling in his ability to make eleven year olds fume. Neville wasn't impressed.

He followed Finch, a blonde haired, blue eyed boy to their dorm room and deemed it unsatisfactory to his needs. He wanted to stay with Potter. Without further comment, he left his stunned roommate behind, his trunk swinging from his right arm as he barged his way into Potter's dorm without knocking.

"Out Malfoy!" He snapped, sending the blonde pureblood scurrying from the room, his half unpacked trunk dragging along the ground behind him, a house elf following behind, his hands covered in filthy bandages and filled with clothes.

"This is much better." Neville decided as he slammed his trunk onto his bed with pleased violence. Hazel eyes fixed Potter in place with a glare and he advanced on the other boy with purpose. "Now, what are you?"

"Question is, what are you?" Harold returned quickly.

Neville smirked arrogantly. "Like you don't know."

"So it would seem." Harold agreed carefully, eyeing the other boy carefully, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I was, until recently, completely unaware of my heritage as the Boy Who Lived and as a magical being. All I knew was that I had to hide myself, that if I revealed my 'other' that I would be in far more danger than I am now."

Harold sat on his bed, watching the other boy carefully. It was always disadvantageous to mention a weakness and he would undoubtably become indebted to the other boy should he fill him in on what he was missing out on, but on the other hand, insider knowledge: that was always beneficial for those involved.

Neville stared at his roommate in shock; surely he had just lied, the Boy Who Lived, ignorant of everything about himself? Was that even allowed? Possible even? That Harold was raised unknowing of his parents sacrifice, of the expectations of their world, was nothing short of criminal. What was worse, was the fact that this could head south, very quickly.

"I see." Came the murmured reply. "Well, that is by far the most unfortunate news I've heard thus far."

Harold cocked his head to the side, obviously weighing Neville up as either an ally or enemy, his golden eyes gleaming with terrible knowledge. "What is so unfortunate?"

Neville sneered darkly and shook his head. "It's unfortunate because you are at a disadvantage." Neville replied, sitting down on his bed.

"How?"

Neville leant back against his head board, staring at Harold with twisted lips, biting the inside in thought. "Disadvantageous because you are the Boy Who Lived, expected to right wrongs and change the world with just a flick of your pinky. That you were brought up ignorant of this means that you do not know what o portray to the wizarding world as a whole."

Harold sneered coldly, obviously most displeased with the notion. "Then what would you recommend?"

Neville grinned wickedly, little humour in his expression. "How are you at acting?"

Harold smirked in reply, his golden eyes gleaming.

"Excellent." Neville breathed, a rapturous expression on his face. "I suggest that you practice on our delightful Head of House, it would appear that he has a slight grudge against you and so would be easily swayed to see the surface."

"The Boy Who Lived, I suppose, is rather arrogant, yes?" Harold murmured thoughtfully.

"Of course, he is the archetype of a noble hero." Neville replied arrogantly.

Harold smirked once more and leant back on his bed, hands steepled on his chest as he plotted. The archetype of a noble hero, how delightfully trite and easily used. This could be fun.


End file.
